


The Night After

by gilraecinn



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 10:11:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3406787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilraecinn/pseuds/gilraecinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>’It is my fault’’ he said and a forced smile appeared on his face ‘’if I wasn’t blind and ambitious none of it would have happened’’. He started crying...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night After

**Author's Note:**

> This happened in a blink of an eye two weeks after I watched the BOTFA movie and I was so desperate and needed, really needed something to comfort me so I started writing....

It was quiet when he climbed on the hill where the tent was built. His body was aching from bruises and bleeding wounds, he needed care but that was not what he was thinking about at that particular moment. His mind was filled with ‘what ifs’ and he couldn’t even handle the bad thoughts that came first in his blurred mind. Vision from the battle where flashing around him even though there were nobody out there (except dead bodies but they couldn’t bother him now). The smell of war and death was filling the air and making breathing even harder as he was trying to catch up with his breath while he was climbing the hill.

There was a dim light coming from the tent. As he was approaching, his heart felt like shrinking, his lungs were burning deucedly and for a moment he was scared that maybe there was a severe wound that could cost him his life but there was nothing more important than what was ahead. He took a deep breath, he immediately regretted it, his lungs filled with cold air and the pain was now unbearable. He then saw shadows moving behind the thick fabric of the tent and his heart started to race. He tried to catch something by the movements. People inside were moving slowly, there were a few number of short shapes – probably dwarves – and a tall one. As he carefully came closer he saw people coming out of the tent carrying jugs and boxes – he thought they were boxes. He hid behind a tree, he didn’t know if it was wise from him to just appear out of nowhere, he didn’t know what was going on, who survived the battle, who did not.

‘’No, no, he’s fine’’ he thought but this made him even more worried. 

And the pain came back unexpectedly. He found the courage to take a step forward. He was trembling with pain and cold, his whole body was shaking. It was terrifically hard to control it and almost stumbled himself once he tried to move forward. In the last second he managed to grasp a lower branch. It broke. Bad luck. He fall and stayed on the snow unable to move or even think what he should do next to avoid freezing if possible.

The sound didn’t go unnoticed (fortunately). A dwarf picked up a lantern and walked carefully towards him. He was still lying, feeling his bones freezing. At least there was no pain. But cold. Too much to handle. He closed his eyes and the only thing he could hear was the sound of feet pressing into the soft snow. A strong hand lifted him up gently and as slowly as he could the dwarf carried him carefully back in the tent. He finally could see the inside of the tent and not just shadows from the outside. But his vision was blurry and the smoke coming from the fire was too thick so he felt himself going dizzy and lethargic. His mouth was dry and the pain on his chest came back. He managed to take a glimpse of a large shape in front of him before he closed his eyes and surrender himself to deep sleep. Heavy arms carried him somewhere warm, a pillow was behind his head and hands were gently trying to separate the skin from cloth. It was a nasty wound after all. The thin fabric was one with his skin and blood was covering most of his chest. The dwarves gasped in fear and concern as his little body was shivering from pain. The cut was too deep. They cursed whoever did this and started cleaning the wound and did whatever possible to stop the bleeding.

It was dark outside. The mountain above was standing guardian of the gold inside. But all the gold of Erebor was now lacking importance. The dwarves used all the spells their ancestors had taught them to save the little hobbit. He was now lying unconscious, pale and the tremors had worsened slightly. One of the dwarves was holding his hand to control the tremor, a second dwarf took up the difficult task to remove the bloody bandages and put new, clean ones. It was a low process and all the faces around were worried except one. This particular face was sleeping next to the hobbit’s bed. His chest was also bounded and a blood stain was visible. He looked calm and peaceful. Long hair lying softly on the side. He opened his eyes reaching with weak hands for something unknown. His hand fall like a heavy rock causing him dizziness.

‘’I’m never doing that again’’ he said and his voice stumbled. 

The tallest dwarf beside him smiled. The king turn on his side and there was a grin on his face for he recognized his dearest friend. It was Dwalin of course. Always by his side. And he was the one who carried the hobbit inside the tent. But he didn’t speak of it. Not yet. It was a matter of time for the King to see the Hobbit lying next to him, eyes closed, bruised lips and nose, his little face covered with blood and dirt.

The wind was moaning outside the tent and the smell of war was all around. Thorin suddenly felt worried. He knew that Fili and Kili had survived and they were helping the wounded a few miles away but he felt that something was missing.

‘’Move!’’ he ordered Dwalin with hoarse voice. 

‘’Hm?’’ replied the other dwarf surprised. 

‘’You’re hiding someone!’’. Thorin looked uncommonly worried and he was barely moving his lips.

‘’I’m not hiding anything’’ he paused, looked at his friend doubtful.

The taller dwarf didn’t have a clue what to do. The Hobbit hadn’t escaped danger and the sight of him would have cause Thorin heartache (or worst a heart attack). Dwalin have seen things. He was completely aware of his friend’s feelings for the little hobbit. He knew how important was Bilbo to his king friend and he couldn’t stand watching him heartbroken (again). He thought maybe he could hide Bilbo’s bed behind his back a little longer to save some time until he figure out something.

‘’Move!’’ said the King louder this time, ‘’please’’ his voice was now soft. 

Thorin knew of course who was lying on this bed but he wanted to see him, to make sure that he was breathing, to reassure himself that he could see his deep blue eyes shining brighter than starlight in a crystal-clear night. That he could hear his voice softer than the finest butter in the Shire. Dwalin shaked his head disappointed and finally stepped aside. He was aware he would regret this move later.

‘’He got knocked out during the battle’’ 

The dwarf started narrating a story he barely knew himself, for it was a fact that he didn’t know what happened to Bilbo after he detached from the company and they lost his traces in the battlefield. 

‘’I found him’’ he continued ‘’almost buried in the snow outside the tent’’. 

He looked at Thorin worried. The King seemed lost and hopeless and Dwalin knew that he heard nothing. Thorin’s head was filled with ‘’whys’’ ∙ he should have been more careful, he should never have left Bilbo of his sight. The hobbit knows nothing of pain and war and yet he had experienced both. And it was Thorin’s fault. 

Thorin realized that and slowly slid a hand across his forehead, wiping cold sweat drops. ‘’What was I thinking’’ was the only thing that came out of his lips. 

He moved, making a remarkable effort to stand on his feet. With his loyal friend always by his side he managed to come closer to Bilbo. His eyes were burning and his heart was racing but he cared little. The sight of his burglar was more shocking than one can imagine. His face looked bloodless and his pulse was weaker than before (Thorin fortunately hadn’t see him when they first found him and he wasn’t aware of his condition). The hobbit was lying motionless, his head somewhat falling gently on the side and golden curls covering his forehead. He looked almost placid but Thorin knew that this wasn’t going to last and he would be in great pain once he wakes up – if he wakes up. He felt guilty and guiltiness replaced by terror in the thought of losing his burglar. He then covered his eyes with both hands and when he finally looked up, Dwalin saw a wet line under his eyes. The King was crying. Thorin waved his hand on the air as if he has just been attacked by bees. He somehow then found the courage to look at his hobbit who was lying still unconscious and lips even dryer. The hobbit was breathing heavily. It was a relief for the Dwarf King to watch the rise and fall of his wounded chest.

In the meanwhile the other dwarves have left the tent for unknown tasks and the room was empty. Even Balin, the eldest and wisest dwarf of the company, had left to help Fili and Kili. They couldn’t see him weeping; they couldn’t see his eyes filling up with tears. He was drowning. No gold sickness was more horrendous than the sickness he felt when he touched the hobbit’s cold fingers. They were so cold he felt chills across his spine and neck. He then reached out to his cheeks. High fever was eating the hobbit’s flesh. The king nervously stroked his wrinkles over his eyes, fingers sliding over his cheeks again. He was drawing invisible patterns with his fingers on Bilbo’s jawline. He couldn’t move his hands off his little face. He felt that this was a magic moment, sacred and pure. But only Thorin could feel it. The hobbit was frozen, almost lifeless, lying on the bed. Dim candle light was covering his face making his neck and chest look tender and vulnerable. The King kneeled and buried his forehead into the hobbit’s curls. He stayed like that for quite a long time. It felt like the outside world had forgotten about them. Nobody came in, no voice was heard, not even a breeze flied around them making his spine shake. The hobbit’s cheeks were now pink. Thorin saw in the candle-light a movement. Bilbo’s lips were moving faintly. Thorin stand on his feet and as fast as he could he grabbed Bilbo’s hands. He was desperately trying to find some words to tell him. He just stayed there, with Bilbo’s hands still in his, waiting for a sign of life. He squinted his eyes in deep disappointment when the hobbit stayed quiet again.

There was no point trying to revive him. He sat back, his hands fall heavy; 

His head felt like spinning. ‘’This is it’’ he thought and his heart jumped off his ribcage, shaking in pain.

Whatever was happening inside his mind nobody could tell by simply watching him. He was standing perfectly still, with eyes always on the hobbit trying to catch the smallest movement of his eyes or fingers, any sign to make him hope. He looked calm and peaceful for a second. But from the inside he was furious, anger was now filing his empty soul. 

He was angry with himself ‘’It is my fault’’ he said and a forced smile appeared on his face ‘’if I wasn’t blind and ambitious none of it would have happened’’.  
He started crying, his whole body was shaking rhythmically.

After six minutes of crying he was out of breath. He came closer to the hobbit’s face gently. His lips were barely touching his skin. He felt the heat embracing him with the soft touch. His beard was caressing the hobbit’s lips and then, in a moment of confusion, he found his lips brushing softly with the burglar’s. When he realized what he had done he pressed them harder against the hobbit’s tasting them. 

He didn’t mind. Not at all! He knew that this was more likely the last moment with Bilbo and he had to make sure that it would be as it had to be. He regretted that he took him so long; he regretted every minute he spent away from him. Every sunlight and moonlight he lived before Bilbo came seemed now to be a thorough waste of time. He should have started this journey earlier but he should have ended it differently. This was when he felt a soft touch on his fingers. He jumped and looked at his hand which was lying next to the hobbit’s. It was now cupped in Bilbo’s and the hobbit closed it in his tight. His eyes still shut but Thorin knew he could hear him. 

‘’I-‘’ 

He hesitated for a second; he didn’t know what to say.  
‘’Bilbo…’’. The hobbit smiled faintly. But it was enough to comfort Thorin whose breath was coming out in short, barely audible, pants.

The dwarf couldn’t do or say much. He reached out for Bilbo’s chest and place a warm hand on bare skin, The hobbit felt his muscles paralyzed and shivered beneath his touch. It felt good. More than good. Better than being alive! Bilbo finally knew that his king had survived and he was standing right there (who knows for how long) and they were alone inside the tent and there was a dim light and a soft sound of leaves far away. 

‘’Mh-hm’’ 

He finally opened his eyes and there was the dark blue lake. The deepest you could find. Thorin could easily let himself sink in the depths. He wouldn’t mind the asphyxiation, of course not. He stared and stared and stared and Bilbo was staring back. Two dark blue lakes almost connected. So close was Thorin eyes to Bilbo’s face, he could easily kiss him again. But it wasn’t easy now. What if the hobbit was mad at him after that? He decided to never think about it. Bury it deep in his mind and bring it back in hard times. But hard times are hard to come when the hobbit is around. And he was around. He was right there, alive and smiling! He was smiling? What does this mean? The dwarf was confused. He needed to know.

‘’I am glad you survived’’ 

He lowered his head (even lower, yes) and the hobbit laughed – at least he thought he laughed for it sounded more like a cough, he was in extreme pain.  


‘’Glad?’’ his voice was weak and hoarse ‘’You’re just glad? I didn’t survived through this for nothing, I guess?’’.

The dwarf smiled at him and spontaneously caressed his curls on the side of his head. Bilbo widened his eyes. Thorin held his still cold hand.

‘’You look surprised’’ whispered in the hobbit’s ear.

‘’I have the right to be, haven’t I?’’ he asked back ‘’you said –‘’ he paused.

The dwarf felt his heart beating faster. ‘’I remember what I said and none of it was true. I never meant anything I said’’.

Bilbo felt his body lighter and the pain became softer and bearable

‘’That’s a pretty deep scratch on your nose’’.

The dwarf looked him in surprise ‘’Sorry?’’.

Bilbo reached for the dwarf’s face with slender hands and slow movement ‘’There’’ he gently stroked his nose with a finger ‘’it must hurt a lot’’.

Thorin was almost tearing up and he didn’t know why..

‘’Not as much as my heart hurt when I thought we lost you…’’ he thought for a second ‘’when I thought I lost you’’.

Bilbo squeezed his finger and pulled Thorin’s face closer to his with a hand placed on the back of his neck. Thorin’s breath was caressing his face while he mumbled something he didn’t catch. The dwarf couldn’t drag his gaze away for the sight was way too beautiful. The hobbit’s lips were calling him for a kiss. Bilbo pulled his head even closer and brushed a stray lock of hair off his face. Their lips finally crushed together and it felt like thunderstorm between their mouths. Bilbo was caressing with a free hand Thorin’s back deepening the kiss. Thorin’s head was tightening, his muscles paralyzed, he felt dizziness but he couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when everything he had ever desired was lying in front of him. Their lips parted slowly and Thorin brought the back of the Hobbit’s hand to his lips and kissed. Bilbo caressed his cheek, red now from the heat of the kiss. The dwarf buried another kiss on Bilbo’s tender neck.

They were smiling, their heart were singing lullabies to each other. Nobody came in for the rest of the night (it might be dawn already, they didn’t have a clue what time was it). They spent the rest of the dark hours lying next to each other. Thorin was careful; he didn’t want to hurt Bilbo. But the hobbit didn’t seem to mind. He placed gently his head on Thorin’s chest, caressing the wounded spot as softly as he could.

They stayed like this till the sun came out and the scent of war and death was vanished. They stayed like this and every morning since found them waking up next to each other, gazing into each other’s eyes, murmuring sleepy ‘’good mornings’’ and kissing each other every time in new places. You might say that ‘’they lived happily ever after’’.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it   
> uwu :)  
> Maybe too angsty but the end was happy enough (i couldn't end it in any other way except this)


End file.
